Hunter: Dark
by Beth Weasley
Summary: Set before the other No Angel stories. BLLV. Bella's a queen now, but she still isn't happy... Part 2 or 3


Well, folks, here's story number three in the "No Angel" series I've been writing. This is the second fic set to "Hunter," and the remaining two will be set to another song by our dear Dido. Just a warning, though—this particular fic has a very dark tone to it, and focuses on a part of the Harry Potter saga that many seem to neglect: the Dark Lord and his minions. There are, naturally, mentions of violence, death, and some kind of squicky sexual situations, as some may see them. However, this fic gives quite a bit of background on the "No Angel" universe, as it is set a good decade before the others, while the war is still raging. With that said, the usual disclaimer applies. I don't own any of the characters, nor the universe from whence they come. If you recognize it, it's probably not mine. I'm just playing, and I promise to return everyone unharmed… physically, at least. ;-) Now, on with the show!

Hunter: Dark 

Black kid leather gloves made a light "smack" as they landed on the polished mahogany console table. The front hall of the Dark Manor was lit only by a single taper halfway along the first floor, a light that was never permitted to go out. Stiletto heels made a quiet staccato to accompany the soft creak of leather as she strode toward the stair. She heard a rat cry out somewhere in the house; Pettigrew was not their Master's favourite person at the moment.

One door on the second floor was, as usual, limned from within, just barely ajar.

**With one light on, in one room,**

**I know you're up when I get home.**

Sighing, Bella climbed the stairs, knowing that it was to be another routine night, just as it had been for the last year.

**With one small step upon the stair,**

**I know your look when I get back.**

It had started with the attack on the Burrow, that dreadful little shack the Weasleys had called home. Of course, there weren't many of them left now, just the four youngest ones, and they hadn't been at the house that night.

If they had been, Bella might not have escaped with her life. Those four apparently held a grudge against her for sending her dog of a cousin through the Veil years ago. As it was, Rodolphus and Rabastan had been killed before they could get away.

Her Lord had wed her a week later, naming her a Queen over His Death Eaters in the same ceremony. She had preened over the title for weeks, until she found out that she was now far too valuable to be risked on simple raids.

**If you were a king, up there on your throne,**

**Would you be wise enough to let me go?**

**For this queen you think you own**

**Wants to be a hunter again,**

**Wants to see the world alone again,**

**To take a chance at life again.**

**So let me go…**

She growled quietly, the sound deep in her throat, as she approached her Lord's door. She was so _sick_ of being coddled. Yes, she was the only woman to ever wear His Mark, but she wasn't a hothouse flower, not like her dear sister 'Cissa. She only occasionally got to throw a curse any more; she was allowed to punish the minions, naturally, but there'd only been one prisoner brought to the Manor in the last year, and the stupid Mudblood—Andy's husband, Ted—hadn't been much sport at all, simply giving her limpid looks and, after only half an hour of spells, expiring with a quiet sigh. No screams, no begging, no writhing in agony. What a disappointment he had been.

**The unread book, your painful look.**

**The TV's on, the sound is down.**

The door swung silently on well-greased hinges, revealing exactly what Bella had come to expect every night. Her Lord slouched in His massive, snake-carved throne. The book of dark spells she had offered Him that morning—this time a rare Arabian text, written in what appeared to be Parseltongue—lay on the floor by the throne, obviously not read. There were only two sets of finger marks on the dusty cover; one from where she had given it to Him, and the other from where He had set it on the threadbare carpet.

When she cleared her throat, He turned away from contemplation of the silent fire in the grate and looked on her with empty blue eyes for a long, long moment. She relaxed as they finally became the burning red she was accustomed to. Rumour among the minions claimed that the blue eyes were signs of His childhood self, an innocent and abused boy, becoming more dominant. Frankly, they unnerved her.

**One long pause, then you begin;**

"**Oh, look what the cat's brought in."**

"You look… ragged. Like something Nagini dragged in." Bella flinched a bit at the comment. She _felt_ ragged, but it shouldn't show! She always took such pains to look as she had at twenty, half a lifetime ago and before Azkaban.

"I tire of the routine that has taken over since You gave me the honour of being Your queen, My Lord." She sank to her knees at His feet, expecting a harsh reprimand. This was the first time she had dared say such a thing. And yet, part of her wanted punishment, craved the pain of His wand pointed at her, His voice hissing spells.

**If you were a king, up there on your throne,**

**Would you be wise enough to let me go?**

**For this queen you think you own**

**Wants to be a hunter again,**

**Wants to see the world alone again,**

**To take a chance at life again.**

**So let me go…**

**Let me leave…**

A long, cold finger curled under her chin, forcing her to look up at the serpentine features of her Lord.

"Explain yourself, Bellatrix." Already, he had said more tonight than in the last three nights running.

**For this crown you placed upon my head**

**Feels too heavy now.**

"You've withdrawn, My Lord. Rarely do You speak. No orders, no raids, and the only meetings are the ones that I call. Forgive me, Lord, but… it is as though You've given up hope of beating The Brat and ruling as You rightfully should, rather than those Muggle-loving fools and their bumbling Ministry." She cringed, awaiting the explosion.

After three full minutes of silence, she risked peering up through her eyelashes at her Lord.

He stared into nothingness, one pale hand stroking His chin. He hummed in thought, then looked down at her with those ruby-red eyes. Her gaze snapped back to His feet.

"Perhaps I have been idle too long. We cannot let The Brat forget that I _will_ kill him and the rest of that bothersome Order of his. You wish to raid and pillage once again, my sweet?" His hand again cupped her face and pulled it upward.

**And I don't know what to say to you,**

**But I'll smile anyhow.**

"Yes, My Lord." She could tell that her voice was breathy, and He smirked.

"Bear me an heir, first, and then I _might_ loose you on the world again." He tossed her face aside, nails drawing angry lines on her cheek. "Leave my presence, and do not return until you can get with my child." She scrambled to her feet and fled the room, her heart in her throat.

So He _could_ get mad at His queen.

**And all the time, I'm thinking,**

**Thinking…**

Bella stumbled into the library a few moments later. With a snarl, she leaned against the wall, drew her wand, and fixed the heel she'd broken coming down the stair in such a hurry.

_Blast Severus, the thrice-damned traitor,_ she thought. _He'd have known a dozen potions to assure that I conceived the Lord's child, and two dozen more spells, but he works for The Brat. I could happily kill them both at the moment._ But no, she was going to have to dig through the massive collection here and find the spells and draughts herself. She'd use as many as she could; Bella wanted this over with as soon as possible, so that she could return to doing what she loved best.

Hunting, and torturing, the enemy.

**I want to be a hunter again.**

**I want to see the world alone again,**

**To take a chance at life again.**

**So let me go…**

**Let me leave…**

**Let me go…**


End file.
